Chapter 52

Ardal

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I say, trying to reassure Jack - and myself.

But I’m really not. The wheels in my head have been spinning since Jack took me up to his loft apartment last night, and spiraled to a dizzying pace with him this morning. Why can’t I just get Kadeem out of my mind?

Jack drops me off at my home, and since I'm running late for work (Saturday is our busiest day of the week), I hastily climb into my car in last night’s clothes.

There's no way I can chance going inside without adding on at least fifteen minutes of questions and hugs from the quints, even with Hannah attempting to corral them for me.

“IDGAF if anyone notices,” I text Julia as I pull up.

By “anyone,” of course I mean Kadeem, but I don’t tell her. I dash inside, planning to go straight to the locker room to shower and change. If the stars align, I won’t be late for the 10AM yoga class I’m teaching.

As I saunter past Kadeem in the hallway, a flicker of apprehension stirs inside me. His expression is of faint dismay, and my self-assurance evaporates. Then, I catch him out of the corner of my eye giving me the once-over. Instantly, I’m livid.

“Don’t you dare slut-shame me,” I seethe, my veins coursing with rage.

He scrunches up his face, indignant. “What?! I didn’t say a thing.”

“You made a face at me,” I roar.

Kadeem clears his throat, sounding aggrieved. His voice simmers to a low growl. “It… it’s because you smell like him.” He wrinkles his nose in disgust, casting his eyes downwards.

My stomach lurches. There are times when I wonder if some part of Kadeem recognizes me. This is one of those moments.

“So? What’s it to you?” I cross my arms defensively, my cheeks hot with embarrassment. I feel sort of guilty, like I’ve been caught cheating.

He’s not your husband anymore, Ardal. Get a grip.

Bitterly, I picture the day he casually took out those divorce papers and flicked them onto my lap as if they were nothing.

The only reason we’re cordial at all is because he has no clue about our shared history. I must never forget the truth - any kindness on his part is in no way sincere. It’s not meant for me - not the Ardal who was his fated mate and wife. The man I loved with all my heart, the one who I promised eternity, crumpled up his vows like they were nothing.

Kadeem masks every single emotion on his face so carefully, so effortlessly, it’s an art form. He straightens his posture. “It’s nothing, Ardal. Carry on.” He walks away without another glance.

I roll my eyes and head for the shower.

I don’t know what Kadeem’s deal is, but I’m bewildered at the intensity of emotions that surged up for him when I was with Jack. It’s left me feeling unbalanced and off-kilter.

In the shower, I ferociously lather my body with soap and scrub in an increasingly frenzied rage. With each movement of the loofah, I feel more and more wrathful.

There’s an avalanche of fury, at myself, too, for allowing the thought of his slimy touch or arrogant smirk to enter my head. Soon, I’m suffocating in my own disappointments.

I step out of the shower, dry off, and slip into my clothes for the day. My heart is nothing but a Benedict Arnold, I decide, and I stalwartly refuse to give into it. I will not get sucked back into having feelings for this man.

My phone lights up as I’m heading out the door. It’s Julia.

“How was your walk of non-shame?”

“Great,” I text. “I was totally cool and adult about it.”

I throw my phone into my bag and march off to the yoga studio room. I spend the rest of the day refusing to talk to, or even look at Kadeem. It’s the kind of avoidance that borders on passive aggression. Very adult.

“Try these.”

I lift a pair of five pound weights from the rack, handing them to my newest client, Sylvia, who’s just finished knotting her red hair back into a messy ponytail.

We’re standing alone together in the usually busy weight room. Kadeem recently hired Greta, a spin instructor who looks like she fell off the model runway. The beefy guys who normally camp out here are now busy ogling her in the evening spin class.

“Oh, these are nothing,” Sylvia says, laughing as she takes the lilac-colored weights. She raises one arm above her head, weight in hand. “I got this.”

I smile. After we get through this routine, she won’t be able to lift a pencil for the rest of the day.

We look up at the sound of the door opening. Kadeem strides in, towel over his shoulder, a male client following behind him.

Without thinking, I go back down the passive aggressive route, sighing loudly at Kadeem’s entrance. He throws me a cursory glance and snorts in irritation.

I try to focus on Sylvia’s workout, but Kadeem’s presence has me riled. He’s the epitome of professionalism, spotting his client and encouraging him to keep going. Somehow, this makes it worse. I don’t want him to act admirable in any way - not when I’m feeling irate over him.

Distracted, I keep stealing glances. All I want right now is for him to disappear.

“Am I done yet,” Sylvia asks, panting. She’s dripping with sweat and her face is red. “I don’t think I can keep going.”

“Give me one more,” I say, in a forced, cheery tone. Unfortunately, it comes out more maniacal than anything.

I notice Kadeem looking over at me with a smirk on his face before his attention diverts back to his client, who’s desperately wrestling against the barbell in an attempt to stay afloat. I respond with a smug expression, but he fails to notice.

Sylvia groans and strains to extend her shaking arms, when all the lights in the room shut off, prompting a sudden “Ooof,” from Kadeem’s client. I wince, hoping Kadeem had hold of that barbell.

“Oh, thank God,” Sylvia says, exhaling. Weakly, she passes me the weights back, and the four of us make our way out of the room, guided by the emergency exit light.

Greta, Kadeem, and I usher the clients out in a line of cell phone flashlights. We linger outside together for a few moments after the last person exits. The entire city block has gone dark. It’s a little spooky.

“Some idiot probably hit a pole,” Kadeem says.

Greta adjusts the bag slung over her shoulder. “I don’t guess you mind if I call it a night then, Boss?”

“Of course not,” he says. “I’ll see you Tuesday.”

She smiles her beautiful smile at him and I feel a spasm of jealousy.

Kadeem turns to me. “You, too.”

“I can’t yet. I left my purse in the locker room.”

“I’ll walk you, then. I need to grab my things, too.”

He holds the door. I walk just inside of it and wait for him to lead us with the flashlight he procured. We’re silent as we make our way through the building. He steps into the women’s locker room with me, and shines the light so I can see to enter the code on the small keypad of my locker.

I pull my purse out. The beam from the flashlight is reflecting onto him, illuminating his coal black hair and bronzed features. I shut the door with a loud “clang.”

He shifts the flashlight back down towards the floor. “If you don’t mind following me to the office for a sec, I’ll get my stuff, and then I’ll walk you out to your car.”

His chivalry irks me. “You don’t need to do that,” I say, haughtily. I open my purse and start digging for my phone, so I’ll have my own, independent light.

His jaw clenches. "What is your problem?"

I immediately stop hunting for my phone. I wrap my arms around my purse, positioning it like a shield. “Excuse me?”

“Your behavior today is nothing short of ridiculous,” Kadeem says, sounding exasperated.

I open my mouth to speak, but I really don’t have a counter. What he said isn’t exactly untrue.

“I - I don’t know what you mean,” I finally blurt out, throwing my eyes up to the ceiling like I’m flummoxed at his asking.

He holds up his fingers, counting off my offenses. “Jumping down my throat this morning, avoiding me, audibly sighing when I walk into the room.”

He stops, then holds up another finger, as if remembering. “This exchange, right now,” he says. “Come on, Ardal. Grow up a little!”

“Me, grow up?” I fake a cough. “You have some nerve -“ I choke back my real resentments for him and shift back to the surface-level aggrievement. “You were a total jerk this morning!”

“Please. That’s an exaggeration,” Kadeem says. “I was keeping my thoughts to myself until you yelled at me over a facial expression.”

“It’s none of your business who I spend my time with or what I smell like!”

“None of my business?” Kadeem looks like he wants to explode, but in the next second, I watch him deflate. “You’re right,” he says. “It’s not.”

“Yeah,” I say, putting my hand on my hip. I hadn’t expected him to agree with me, and now I’m at a loss for words again. I nearly lose track of why I’m mad at him or what we’re arguing about in the first place. “Yeah.”

He stares at me, waiting for more hostility, but it’s fizzled out. I’m a flat soda - and it's just as unsatisfying as it sounds. I want to blow up at him. I want to yell and rage at him for all the reasons he deserves, but doesn’t know. But I’m looking at him now, and he just looks sad.

Why? And why does that make me sad, too?

“Let’s just get out of here,” he says.

I hate him, and I fervently long for him to hold my hand while we’re walking through the darkened building towards his office. I love him, and as he gathers up his things from off of his desk, I have to snap my jaw shut to stop myself from saying something snide or hurtful.

I truly yearn to say something awful enough that it will push him away forever, just as much as I want him to take me in his arms.

I feel a pit in my stomach. If he did, right now, pull me into his arms - I would let him. I have no doubt about that - and it terrifies me.

I continue to fight a tug-of-war of despising and wanting him, all in the same, so that by the time we get to my car, I’m exhausted and tongue-tied.

Kadeem’s face is pensive. “Goodbye,” he says, with a nod.

I can’t even get a word out.

He waits a second before casting me a scorching glance of disappointment. “Ah. Back to the silent treatment. Right then.”

He’s already walking away as I try to spit out an apology, the burn of self-loathing in my throat, my ire for him still present in my clenched fists. I sink into the front seat of my car, feeling like the world’s biggest mess.